Die Fee Verschwindet
by twiiice
Summary: "The Fairy Vanishes" - For Ludwig, a German soldier with nothing to lose, the line dividing reality and fantasy disintegrates when he stumbles upon an elusive fairy within an abandoned box, and finds himself in a world where dreams are all too real.
1. Chapter 1

Ludwig was not a superstitious man. On the contrary, he was about as practical and grounded as a human could hope to be. His life was orchestrated by his own set of self-imposed rules, to which he adhered to with stubborn rigor. Needless to say, his life was not a glamorous one. Others might call it "bleak". Ludwig would not choose that word himself. But, if asked, he would not be able to offer an alternative description either. For him, it just "was". To live any other way was unthinkable.

At dawn each morning, he rose and assembled himself a proper German breakfast of _brotchen, wurst, _and coffee (black). The food was neither enjoyable nor unpleasant. The important thing was that it filled him and sustained his health. With grim satisfaction, he tended the low cottage in rural woodland that he had inherited from his father, where he had lived alone from the age of seventeen. Fond memories of his long dead father accompanied these activities where his father had and absent older brother once accompanied him in reality, and they did not trouble him in the slightest. He traced his father's steps through the sturdy log house to the stable where the horse was kept at night, then to the shed where the axe was kept that cut countless bundles of firewood. After this work was completed, exercise time commenced without fail. Even the coldest of winter mornings would see him making his rounds sprinting the beaten forested path near his home or doing pull-ups on the low hanging branch of his favored tree. Exercise was what he truly relished out of his monotonous days. Then, when there was nothing in the world but the strain of protesting muscles, burning lungs, and shuddering heart, was when he felt alive. He embraced the pain, that was very real and concrete, which in turn conveyed neural waves of wild and indescribable pleasure. (He knew, of course, that this sensation was merely the result of endorphins triggered in his brain-"runner's high". He wasn't silly enough to give any thought to notions of spiritual purification.) After a solid two hours of those strenuous workouts, he returned to his modest property to tend the garden that his father had cultivated in the thin soil. It bore more vegetables than one person needed, so he periodically went to town on his horse and cart to sell off the surplus and buy necessities that he couldn't produce himself, like the meat he so craved. He had a superficial friendship with the grocer there, but in truth, he dreaded venturing into town. The ever-shifting hordes of people in their varied fashions, classes, and demeanors-crossed at all angles with social lines and always emoting-set his teeth on edge. He avoided those trips into that alien cityscape as much as he could. A job wasn't even on the table for him, not that he particularly needed the money. His father had left behind enough for him to live comfortably in Berlin, if he so desired. But he had no desire; he could leave that urban life to his attention-seeking brother. It was much more gratifying to Ludwig to conclude his waking hours reading dusty volumes by candlelight with no sound but for the wind outside enfolding the cottage in tuneless song. Life unwound at a numbingly tranquil pace out there, one solitary day running seamlessly into the next like the dubious frames of a moving picture show. He and his horse existed in seclusion, uninterrupted and undisturbed. No complications. No human faces, with all the troubling things that followed them, to part the interminable private mist that he was mired in. He breathed it in with determined acceptance. He would live, and eventually die, in this cottage on the southern border of Germany with not an ally beside him. This friendless, practical life suited him well. Or so he thought.

Being drafted came as no surprise to Ludwig. The collective rumblings of war had been present for a while. Even one as isolated as him could feel it, as one feels the approach of a distant train. Soon it was splashed across the front page of every newspaper he came across. People somewhere existed that posed a very real threat to all German lives, the ink shouted. Then came the blood, spilled in a neighboring nation. Its scattered droplets fell on all of them, and on everyone across the whole world.

The moment the mounted, uniformed messenger appeared outside his window, Ludwig knew the course his life would finally take. In the messenger's dust, the official stationary paper slipped into his hand, bringing with it-not fear-but a strange, profound relief. He sighed as if to let out a breath he had unknowingly been holding in for many years.

He was to report to the nearest recruitment facility at the appointed time. No exceptions. Desertion was unforgivable. Just like that, he was swept into the current of the wider world. To resist it was suicide.

Ludwig would report to the recruitment facility, because for the first time in his life, he was needed. His country needed him.

The time was World War I.

A/N: Alright. Let the tomato-chucking begin. This is my first post, after all, so there's bound to be some errors. Grill me as you see fit, but do keep in mind that this my _first fan fic ever! _

At this point, I have no idea where this story will go. How exciting…

Ha, I don't really know what to put here. I guess I'll give a shout-out to my close friend, Kuro-Riya. Thanks for showing me the ropes, and for writing your awesome SuFin fic of which I am an avid reader!

Feed me your reviews!


	2. Chapter 2

Soon after the draft letter had been delivered and the mounted messenger had gone on his way, the thought occurred to Ludwig that he should perhaps inform someone in the world that he was going to war. The Great War, as they were calling it. A war, apparently, to end all wars. He supposed he might not come back, and there were a few possessions he had to put in order, including his father's substantial inheritance that had gone mostly untapped. After all, someone had to look after his horse. So, after the daily chores were done, Ludwig seated himself at his dark oak writing desk, where stationary paper, ink, a pen, and a gas lamp all seemed to wait with baited breath to be put into use. It was the twilight hour, and the landscape outside the square window above the desk was dyed strange colors as the mellow sunlight slowly surrendered to deep blue. The front of coniferous trees bordering the vast forest nearby were beginning to bleed darkness, as it were seeping in from the underbrush there-the wild-growing origin of night. Violet had found its way into the small room. Ludwig struck a match, and set the gas lamp aglow. As opposed to the feral, dusky light that cast capering shadows, its light was warm and trustworthy. It brought the room to artificial life. By this light, he would write a letter to someone. Someone.

The trouble was that Ludwig had few living relatives. Those who were alive lived in other countries—even his older brother. Apparently, wanderlust was a dominant gene in his family, and he was the only one who hadn't inherited it. He expected that his phenotype was "dull", spelled out in his genes with two lowercase "D"s.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.+.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

His mother had died when he was very young; a grisly suicide. She had leapt in front of a freight train. His father, now deceased, had come home to the telegram saying his wife was probably dead and would he please come to identify the body they had recovered from the "accident" to make certain. She left no note. Ludwig, of course, remembered little of the event, being six years old at the time. He could barely remember his mother, and there was no way of determining if the few vague recollections he did have were not merely generated by his hungry child's imagination and yellowed photographs. He only remembered witnessing-for the first and only time-his father cry. His father never knew to his dying day that Ludwig had seen; he had only glimpsed through an open door for a few seconds. It was enough. He still distinctly recalled the feeling of combined alarm, revulsion, and shame he had in that moment, before he knew what had happened. Men just didn't cry like that. Ludwig had in that instant quietly resolved never to cry that way himself.

That whole dreadful business of his mother's death was what incited his father to abruptly uproot him and Gilbert from their posh, tidy townhouse in Berlin to the woodland abode on the very rim of nowhere in which Ludwig now resided. They had left behind essentially all of their belongings—toys, mother's clothing, and left town within a day, to somewhere. His father had elected only to bring along the clothes on their backs and his most prized books. He remembered gripping his father's hand through train station after train station, which became progressively smaller and more deserted. He remembered the scrolling landscape gradually purging itself of all buildings as they made their way out. His father had remained mostly silent for the duration, and Ludwig dared not ask where they were fleeing to. Even Gilbert had held his tongue. At the end of the line was a small, nondescript town. When they'd arrived, Ludwig recalled finally asking, "_Vater_, where is this place? Are we still in Germany?" He didn't think he'd ever seen his father laugh quite so hard as he did then.

They lived in a hostel in the brief interval that his father was having their cottage built, over in the hills a few kilometers from town. When it was completed, his father shipped in all the new furniture he had ordered from the store in the nearby town, and it became their own as much as a wild place like that ever could. It was nestled between two hills, and encroached on two sides by rugged, endless forest. A dirt road lay between it and a gorge. To the immediate east of it was a downward sloping field that was fenced in and equipped with a small stable, for a horse. The cottage was four rooms: kitchen, parlor, and two bedrooms. Directly behind it were an outhouse and a garden plot. To two boys that had spent the entirety of their young lives in a spacious metropolitan domicile, this took no small amount of adjustment. Ludwig stoically accepted the move and quickly grew accustomed to the pervading silence of the country. He was happy playing by himself in the woods, taking heed never to wander too far. He was eager to learn how to help with the chores, as they were a novelty to him, having never lived in a place where it was necessary to pump water, gather firewood, or feed a horse. His brother, who was three years older, did not adjust so well. He grew increasingly disobedient and derisive to his father. Punishment yielded no results; the child only became more petulant. Gilbert, who found himself bored more often and was woefully lacking in imagination, spent his spare time tormenting Ludwig behind their father's back. He'd mock him incessantly, and put him in a headlock or sit on his chest when he ran out of sing-song insults. Any toy or intriguing gizmo that Ludwig would receive, Gilbert would steal and then break when he lost interest in it. Sometimes he would guide Ludwig as deep into the woods as he could, and abandon him as soon as darkness fell. One of these times, Ludwig couldn't find his way back, and he found himself utterly alone in the darkening woods. When it had become too dark even to move between the trees, he had curled up against a thick trunk and closed his eyes, hugging himself tightly, determined not to make a sound. In his six-year-old mind, the smallest whimper showed fatal weakness to the carnivorous creatures that waited in the gloom. It had taken hours for his father, lamp in one hand, ear of a protesting Gilbert in the other, to find Ludwig. What a fright he must have given both of them when their lamplight illuminated him, catatonic and huddled, motionless, against a tree. Gilbert had received an unforgettable whipping on that night, and Ludwig was in turn spared that particularly life-threatening method of Gilbert's fraternal bullying for good.  
>Having abandoned his lucrative career as a biological researcher at the prestigious university back in Berlin, Ludwig's father put forth the utmost care into homeschooling him and his brother when time permitted him. Ludwig learned far more from his father's engaging lessons than he ever would have at the all boys' school in Berlin he had briefly been enrolled in. He took instant, passionate interest to his father's subject—science. He was introduced to physics, chemistry, astronomy, geology, and biology, and he studied each with unabashed enthusiasm that made his father very pleased. Consequentially, he was on to advanced courses on those subjects quite early in his studies. That isn't to say that he neglected his other subjects. English and Italian, in addition to German literature, were areas which he grasped easily, although not with half as much zeal. At the age of eleven, Ludwig was reading Charles Darwin's <em>Origin of Species <em>for the second time—in English. At age thirteen he was able to read _The Divine Comedy _in Italian. Indeed, his father was deeply pleased. Between all this he was chopping wood and hoeing the vegetable garden. In that manner, Ludwig lived a peasant like existence with an aristocrat's education. Gilbert, on the other hand, took absolutely no interest in schooling. He rejected every subject their father presented to him. It was as if he was dead set on remaining ignorant. No amount of scolding, reprimands, or thrashings could budge the stubborn boy. His father sometimes confided in Ludwig. He though that perhaps Gilbert was punishing him for taking them from Berlin. It got so difficult that he even considered moving back and reclaiming his position at the university. Once again enrolling the boys in that all boys' school. To this Ludwig had said, "No. I think that is simply who Gilbert is. He will always be himself, no matter where he is placed. It would be pointless to go back, _Vater_." Ultimately, his father had agreed.

It was glaringly clear that Gilbert had no place in academics; this they both saw. Their father's disappointment was obvious even to dense Gilbert himself. The punishments stopped coming, as did Gilbert's assignments (which had been dropped down to remedial level of late). He had given up on him. Their father looked at his eldest son the way one might look if they saw a dead kitten in the gutter. Something of this must have bothered Gilbert on a certain level; for, at the age of sixteen, he ran away from home. One spring morning, Ludwig had awoken and glanced over at Gilbert's side of the room to see his brother's bed, neatly made and empty. Gilbert never made his bed. His clothing, which usually littered the floor, was nowhere to be seen. The domed brass birdcage where he'd kept his pet canary, insipidly named Gilbird, had vanished from its usual perch on the end table against the window. He had cherished that bird since his father had bought it for him on his twelfth birthday, and caring for it fanatically had been the only act of responsibility he had ever displayed. That was when Ludwig knew. His brother was gone, and he wasn't planning on coming back. Ludwig had risen from bed and padded to the kitchen, where his father was sitting at the table with his back to him. Ludwig accompanied him at the table. There was one empty chair, which was what his father was staring at. "He's left. Not even a note for us." was all he said. They sat and shared a long silence.

From then on, Gilbert led a transient lifestyle. This is what the occasional letters from him (_sans_ return addresses) told. He hopped trains from city to city, then from country to country, following jobs. His father would always lapse into that same silence after reading them; a silence which Ludwig couldn't dispel with any amount of prompting. He'd only shake his head slowly, sighing something along the lines of _a damn shame._ Then he'd fix his winter blue eyes on Ludwig with an unsettling expression, as if he were mentally scouring him, searching for something to salvage. It always made Ludwig feel hopelessly inadequate.

His father died of a stroke before Ludwig ever managed to salvage that something. He had been only fifty, Ludwig seventeen. He had discovered him in his armchair on an otherwise uneventful December night, after chopping firewood. Limp, and defunct. It had happened so quickly.

When Ludwig had left the house, his father _was_, and when he had returned, his father _wasn't_.

Even then, Ludwig wasn't foolish enough to believe in souls. There was no method, only madness. He could not look at the lifeless eyes of his father and see anything but the end result dispassionate nature.

All those miserable beetles, grasshoppers, and rats they'd dissected together; his father and them were now one and the same. The ends could never justify the means, because there was no justification. There were only means to an end, he realized.

Gilbert didn't even find out about _Vater _until a year after the fact, when he had come to visit. He must have been expecting some semblance of an emotional reunion—father's attention, maybe even some tears. What he came home to, instead, was Ludwig's pale, solitary face-aged about five years, with all the sharper edges and harder contours that came with a fulfilled adolescence—staring coldly at him from the doorway. Before Gilbert could even say, _'_Hallo_, Ludwig. You look like hell,'_ Ludwig had spoken.

"_Vater_'s dead, if that's who you're looking for."

He'd known it was the worst thing he could say at that moment, but it had felt so damned good. _Suffer, _Bruder_, as you have made me suffer._

After the less than warm reunion and a thorough summary of _Vater_'s death, Gilbert had silently brought in his scant luggage from the stoop, along with that same brass birdcage, canary and all. Ludwig had wondered idly if it was the same bird he'd run away with. Gilbert himself had not changed very much. He was a little taller than before, but he measured up to be a few centimeters shorter than Ludwig, much to Ludwig's satisfaction. He was more muscular than when he had left, yet eighteen-year-old Ludwig equaled him in that respect already. He was as disturbingly albino as ever, still the horrific genetic foible that his parents had birthed and generously kept alive. After the verbal bombshell Ludwig had dropped on him, Gilbert was uncharacteristically quiet. A look of incredulity had replaced his usual supercilious smirk on his bone white face. Ludwig liked him better that way.

"I didn't know, Ludwig…"

Of course he didn't. He'd been out on his harebrained escapades without leaving so much as a return address.

"Let me take you to his grave. It's back with _Mutter_'s," he'd replied instead.

It was only fair.

They ended up taking the train back to Berlin. Steeped in silence, they viewed the same scrolling landscape from their childhood, in reverse. It felt as if they were rapidly becoming younger, too, and would emerge in Berlin as their six and nine-year-old selves, memories wiped spotless, all the blood stains lifted. Ludwig would have preferred not to go, but he had to. They emerged in the middle of Berlin unaltered, just as ruined. First they stopped by a florist. Flowers were in order. Gilbert chose some white calla lilies that were like pale little throats. Together they wended their way through the labyrinthine city to the graveyard where their parents waited patiently.

"There isn't much to see, but there you have it."

The graves were placed side by side, as if the intervening years between their deaths were irrelevant; as if they had actually died together. The only difference was the lichen creeping up their _Mutter_'sheadstone. Gilbert kneeled and placed three calla lilies on both sections of bright grave grass. His slumped shoulders made him look so very defeated.

"You should have been there."

"I know. _Gott__verdammt noch mal_, I know!" He'd looked genuinely angry, but not at Ludwig. Was it possible that Gilbert really had been angry with himself?

They took the train back out to the rim of nowhere, speaking little. Gilbert chose not to stay after all; he'd seen enough. So he whisked his luggage and his caged canary away with him, to someplace else. Ludwig had given a half-hearted wave as Gilbert disappeared on foot down the dirt road to hitch a ride. That was the last time Ludwig had seen him. Three years had passed, and he was twenty-one, Gilbert twenty-four. From his last letter, he only knew that his brother was working on a trade ship somewhere. He could be anywhere on earth, for all he knew.

Meanwhile, his remaining living relatives resided in neighboring countries. There was his cousin, Roderich, living with his wife in Vienna in a mansion worthy of a noble. They were never particularly close, partially due to the wide gap in their ages, but namely due to the grudge Ludwig's father had held with Roderich's father. Roderich's father had been devoutly religious, shunning his father's work as ungodly. Ludwig's father could, and did, rant for hours on what a disgrace his brother-in-law was to intellectualism, how ashamed he was that his sister had married such a fool. Ludwig hadn't seen Roderich since a violent argument fueled by the free-flowing Austrian beer over dinner at the Edelstein mansion had culminated in Ludwig's father smashing a beer bottle over _Herr_ Edelstein's head. A year after that, Roderich had sent them the invitation to his wedding, but Ludwig's had father declined, choosing to mail them a congratulatory card and a wedding gift instead.

Ludwig was closer to his second cousins, Vash and Lili. They had been the part of his mother's family that had splintered off and settled in Switzerland. Ludwig, though older than both of the siblings, found more common ground with them than with Roderich. When he was young, his father would occasionally take them to stay at the Zwingli manor in the lap of the Swiss Alps, where Vash and Lili's parents lived. On the brick expanse of their back patio, they would play marbles. Ludwig's competitive streak combined with Vash's deep attachment to his own unique marbles made for some intense matches, which young Lili viewed from a safe distance, lest any thrown marbles find their way to her and "put her pretty green eye out," in the words of her mother.

Ludwig ceased visiting for the summers after his father died. He'd stopped by the previous Christmas season on a whim. It wasn't far, after all. Vash had been eighteen and Lili eleven. In an agreement with his parents, Vash had gotten to keep the elegant Zwingli mansion after his father had taken a job on Wall Street, provided that he attended college in (no surprise) finance, which he happily obliged. He had grown up to be quite the austere individual, with a stringent work ethic and a need for privacy bordering on the neurotic. They were quite alike in that aspect. Vash clearly cherished his younger sister very much, which he expressed by keeping her on a short leash. She was rarely even permitted to be alone with Ludwig, and never longer than five minutes at that. Lili was unlike Vash in that she was the kindest and soft-spoken girl he had ever met. She hung on every word he would say with rapt attention. She was untouched by the cynicism which disenfranchised her brother from mainstream society, yet she loved him unconditionally. Ludwig understood Vash's protective grip on her, though. It just didn't pay for such a charming, pretty girl to be so damned trusting in this world.

The pair of them only left the manor to go to their respective schools, which they left to and returned from together. Vash's hand was always on Lili's shoulder, emerald eyes flashing—daring anyone to try something. Ludwig had witnessed that look, and it was rather frightening, especially considering that the threat implicit in his eyes wasn't an empty one. Vash had also inherited his father's extensive collection of firearms, all of which he knew from butt to barrel. The few times they had gone shooting together, Ludwig was impressed by Vash's dead-on aim.

"How did you get so good at this, Vash?"

Vash had shrugged, rifle over his shoulder. "I have to pass the time somehow."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.+.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Ludwig decided to write to Vash. He dipped his pen to begin the letter, and glanced through the window to see that night had prevailed.

A/N: Well, that turned out considerably longer than the first chapter. I hope that's a good thing. Huzzah for back stories and traumatic childhood memories! In this chapter, Prussia, Austria, Switzerland and Liechtenstein made their first pseudo-appearances. (I say "pseudo" because they didn't actually appear in real time.) And, if you're wondering who Austria's wife is—it's Hungary. Sorry, die-hard yaoi fans. I refuse to pair him with Switzerland. And if you're wondering about the German I snuck into this chapter—_Vater _= father, _Mutter _= mother, _Bruder _= brother, and _Gott verdammt noch mal = _God damn it. (That's all according to Google translate, so if it's less than accurate, please forgive me. I don't take German. I take Japanese.) Let's see… I haven't anything else to say, except: 1.) thanks for reading this far, and 2.) please review and tell me what you think! Pretty please with sugar on top?


	3. Chapter 3

_Dear cousin,_

_ Greetings. How are you holding up? It's been quite a while since we've last conversed. I'm sure you're still making your parents as proud as ever in college. How is Lili faring in her new class? Please convey to her my warmest wishes._

_ I am writing you to inform you that I have been drafted into the war. For the first time, I face the prospect of dying a gruesome death in a trench in some distant land. I'm aware that this matter most likely doesn't hold as much gravity with you, given your country's perpetual neutrality, but the situation here grows increasingly dire with each passing week. I think most of my countrymen are afraid to admit that we may very well lose everything in this war. As for me, I cannot pretend that I'll be spared from the body count of this needless conflict. (Yes, needless indeed.) _

_ It's a small comfort in death, though, to know that at least one person will be affected. It's something that every man deserves. _

_ I'm telling you all this, Vash, because you and your sister are my closest remaining allies on this earth. Although the notion seems foolish now that I put in on paper, it's true nonetheless. _

_ So finally, if I should perish in this war, let it be known that I wish for all my property, including my home, belongings, and savings, to become yours. (My brother, even if I could contact him now, would doubtless have nothing to do with me or this house. Of this I am sure.)_

_ I would also be doubly grateful if you would take care of my horse while I am away. As the date of departure nears, I must request that you act post-haste, if you would like to oblige me. Specifically, this means that she must be moved within the next two weeks, or else I'd be forced to sell her off. I promise that if all goes well, I will reimburse you amply for your trouble. _

_ I realize how great of a burden I am requesting you to carry for me. I apologize for asking so much of you all of a sudden. Please remember that I only ask this because I trust you._

_ If you choose not to accept, I will understand. _

_Sincerely,_

_Ludwig_

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.+.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_Dear Ludwig,_

_ Hello. I must say, it's a bit of a surprise receiving a letter from you, especially one of this perturbing nature. Nevertheless, it is refreshing to be in correspondence with someone with whom I can trust my honest thoughts._

_ Thank you for your concern. I am making a superbly adequate job of my studies, and my parents are quite satisfied with my work. They write me from time to time, congratulating me for a job well done, but then gushing to me about what a terrific place America is supposed to be. (As far as I'm concerned, they could stay there indefinitely and I wouldn't be bothered, but I would never move there myself for any amount of bribery.) I am enjoying my studies in spite of myself, though I am always looking forward to the day when I can be free of that crowded cesspool of a school. You wouldn't believe the evil, repellent people that go into finance. Despicable!_

_ Lili is doing fine, anyway. Although, she almost brought a so-called "friend" home from school once this semester; and a boy, no less. I nearly lost my wits! Needless to say, it will not happen again. That girl keeps me perpetually on edge, regardless…_

_She received your warm wishes with joy. She told me to write the following:_

"Ich liebe dich, _cousin Ludwig! Your letter made my heart so glad! I hope you're doing well! May we visit your home sometime soon? I'd love to meet that pony of yours. Best wishes from Lili!"_

_ I'm sorry about that. You know how she gets. You realize how much she adores you, right? I elected not to tell her about the other part of your letter. It wouldn't do to make her so very sad._

_ To that end, cousin, I would be honored to accept your belongings and financial assets, if that is truly what you wish. As for the horse, I'd be happy to care for her. Lili will be beside herself with delight. I believe I should be able to arrange a trip over there by next week to retrieve her. Lili wanted to visit your home anyway, after all. _

_ That said, I agree that it may be best to keep Gilbert out of this. It fills me with malaise to imagine what he would spend your savings on. I shudder at the very thought. You can rest assured that the money you'd bequeath to me would be properly invested._

_ I daresay, though, that you seem a bit preoccupied with death, Ludwig. I have never faced the prospect of going to war, and neither have any of my immediate kin, so I cannot be held to the accuracy of these words. They are but my uninformed opinion. However…is war not fought for glory and patriotism? I have scarcely heard of it being labeled as a death sentence. Besides, from what I know of you, I have little doubt that you will fare quite well in war as long as you keep that level head of yours._

_ I think you ought to cheer up, cousin._

_Regards,_

_Vash_

A/N: That's all you're getting out of me for the moment! Sorry! This month has been hectic, and it's only going to get worse, what with those pesky finals and projects coming up. (Plus, I'm not the most prolific creator at the best of times. Heheh! [sweat] ) But a short chapter is better than nothing, right? In truth, the next bit requires a lot of thought, which I am hard-pressed for right now with my junior year coming to a close (refer to third sentence), and my long-sought exchange trip to Sweden coming to fruition (I may have to compile a portfolio for it! Eep…).

I'll update when I can—that's all I can promise you with a clean conscience.

Oh, right. Translator's note: _Ich liebe dich_ = "I love you". (But you should know that already, if you really are a reader of GerIta fan fiction! Haha.)

Farewell for now! Leave a review, yes?

P.S. Sorry if my "thank you" messages have been a nuisance to anyone. I'm a newbie fresh out of DeviantArt, where such things are expected… Forgive me.


	4. Chapter 4

Ludwig folded Vash's letter along its crease and laid it back on the writing desk for the fourth time that day. He'd found himself drawn back to it throughout the course of his daily routine ever since it had arrived in the mid-morning, taking pause after fetching water or feeding the horse to go over it again. The action was more nervous tic than fixation. It was now late evening, and the gas lamp on the desk was at work upholding its tentative orbit of amber light to encompass most of the small room. Weak shadows materialized sporadically in the corners where the lamplight struggled to reach; uncertain apparitions. Ludwig stared unseeingly at the folded piece of paper, trying to sort out the thoughts cavorting in his head, but they were hard to pin down and analyze of late. They were too loud to hear.

The letter had arrived five days after he had sent his out. They had been a strange five days. The bold arrow of time soared on ceaselessly forward, but not in the comfortably measured pace that it had taken for most of his adult life. It came sometimes to a crawl without the slightest warning, and Ludwig, in the midst of performing some task, would become unable to focus, mind torn in a hundred directions at once, chest suddenly leaden. There was more than one instance where time seemed to have lurched forward abruptly. One moment Ludwig would be staring out the window at the dawn and the next he would be collapsing onto his bed with only a vague idea of what he had done during the intervening hours. He had never had trouble concentrating before, and his increasingly erratic state unnerved him-at least in the back of his mind, where order and rationality still held their ground. It was totally unprecedented; he didn't know what to do with himself.

His calendar didn't lie, though. It played no role in skewing his perceptions. It hung like a mirror, presenting to him a small, square section of unequivocal truth. The truth was that the appointed date was the Friday of the next week: September the sixth.

The truth was that Ludwig feared death.

He undressed as per his ritual, gaze fixed as always on the bedroom's sole window, which showed nothing but a vaporous mirror image of the room, twin lamplights flickering in playful unison. A twin of himself, appearing, though it could have been a trick of the light, a little thinner as it frowned back at him, unbuttoning its coarse shirt. He might have forgotten to eat a few times, but he couldn't be sure. His stomach felt like soiled cloth, sour and dense. It indicated nothing.

His reflection wasn't something he enjoyed viewing, just for moments like this. It was always an unpleasant surprise when it appeared.

He was a tapestry of recessive Aryan genes—vein-blue eyes, winter wheat hair, skin milky and melanin-deficient. His jaw was square and his shoulders were broad, framing a body cut with generous muscle tone, every contour lean and severe. In some men, these traits were cherished as the European ideal—whatever that was. They looked lithe, cunning, and coolly confident. He'd seen these men about; he knew they were real. But on Ludwig, those basic features were all undercut by the ghoulish gray rings encircling his cavernous eye sockets; the chapped, thin lips; the tautness of the skin beneath high-set cheekbones; the brow ridge that cast the rest in eerie shade. His visage, choked in shadow in the dimness, stared from the window pane impassively. The pane vibrated slightly with a gust of wind outside, and the image faltered.

For one awful instant in the stuttering reflection, Ludwig imagined that his face was sealed into a white death mask, moments from tearing free of the repugnantly mismatched body beneath it on unfathomable wings. And the gaping black eye sockets just stared. It was so vivid. For an awful instant he felt his heart churn, his brain exclaim wordlessly, his eyes go unfocused.

He turned away, knowing that tired eyes play tricks (and only half believing it).

_Perhaps Vash was right_, he thought. He hoped that was all there was to it, this recent trouble of his. He must have been thinking about death more than necessary. It was getting to him, clouding his judgment. He felt that he was slipping out of his own control, and that was all he had.

_Some sleep is all I need._

_I'm fine._

_I'll be fine._

Taking care to avoid the stare of the reflection anyway, he extinguished the lamp's flame with a metal snuffer, thus plunging the room into the natural gloom of the night forest outside.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.+.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

At the stroke of midnight, Something Happened.

The first metallic tolling of the grandfather clock in the parlor shattered his dreamless R.E.M. sleep state. He was suddenly thrust into awareness as if into a pool of freezing water.

The second toll sounded. He was confused. His eyes were still closed, but he felt rough blanket against his bare arms, which were tucked limply to his sides; a down mattress against his back; cool air on his exposed feet.

The third toll. He was in his own bed, he realized. He was safe. It was a night like any other. So why, then, was his pulse quickening? Why was his skin becoming clammy with a thin film of sweat? Maybe he'd find out if he opened his eyes.

The fourth toll. He couldn't open his eyes. He tried again, but it was as if the nerve signals had been blacked out. He tried moving his arms, but they too were fettered, locked into place. He concentrated all his energy on moving his fingers, his toes, anything; but they were all equally lifeless.

The fifth toll. The faint stirrings of panic began. Why couldn't he move? What was happening? He couldn't still be dreaming; he was completely lucid. So why-?

The sixth toll echoed strangely, as if its vibrations had been warped on their way into the room. Simultaneously, the air in the room became thick and oppressive. It weighed on his motionless body, and crept into his shallow inhalations to slowly compress his insides.

The seventh toll came. Something was afoot. If he could only open his eyes, if he could just force his body into response, he could put a stop to this. But he could not move. Whatever was happening, he was utterly helpless to it. Pulse pounding in his neck, he waited.

The eighth toll. He couldn't bear the immobility. He couldn't shake the feeling of impending horror, that something major was about to befall him. He was suffocating in the trembling stillness.

The ninth toll. Panic surged across his every nerve. Yet the room remained obstinately silent. As far as his four serviceable senses could tell, nothing was happening. And yet…

The tenth toll. He tried extending his senses as far as they could reach in a bid to ferret out the irregularity in the room. Deprived of sight in such silence, though, they were no good. He couldn't calm down, try as he might to reassure himself. The air, as if in reply, pressed heavier still.

The eleventh toll. He wished he could just go back to sleep. Any nightmare would be better than this horrific state of alarmed uncertainty. This inexplicable paralysis.

The twelfth toll sounded, and suddenly it happened.

As if conjured from the inside of the mattress, the unmistakable sensation of human fingers grazed across the back of his neck.

The scream died in his throat without release as the echo of the last clock chime terminated. His reflexes commanded his hands to move to his neck, but they were dead weight. His muscles were locked; there was no fight, no flight. He was at the mercy to whatever this thing was that had emerged from the dark.

The hands that he could not see moved down, raising a crop of goose flesh all the way to his shoulders, where they came to rest. They were gentle, satin soft, and small against his fevered skin. They grasped, not with menace, but with urgency. Then, a face. He felt the smoothness of its cheek, ghostly, against his own clammy jaw; its slight chin, its dry lips.

Ludwig was beyond terror at this point; mind shutting down, falling end over end into oblivion-the only escape route remaining. Just before the faint overcame him, the soft lips turned to touch his ear, forming airy foreign words that trailed him down, down, down into the column of absolute cerebral darkness into which he was plummeting.

_Trovare me._

"Find me."

And then there was nothing.

A/N: Hello! I'm so glad you've read this far. Am I starting to lose you yet? Haha. This story has taken a weird turn, and I, for one, LOVE IT. Weirdness is but one of my specialties.

You know how I said in the last installment that there would be few updates in the near future? Well, it still stands. I've got two weeks of school left, yes, but my summer is also shaping up to be insanely busy. I will be: looking for (and hopefully getting) a job (or two), taking summer school for piano lessons (what?), taking an online English class, and learning Swedish (I forgot to mention…I GOT ACCEPTED! I'm actually going to live in Sweden for six months starting in August! Aasgdhgjhsajgh I can't even-).

So, if I don't update often enough, you can rest assured knowing that's why!

Until next time!


	5. Notice

This is not a chapter.

This story has been put on hiatus.

I'm sorry, everyone. I hate to do this, but I'm afraid I've just hit a wall with this story. I've been quite busy lately with the exchange trip and all that, and somewhere in these months I've lost the spark that had me writing this particular fiction. I can't thank you enough for your readership and encouragement on my very first fanfiction.

I am currently starting a new collaborative steampunk AU SuFin fic with my friend Kuro-Riya, so that's where my energy will be focused for the foreseeable future. If you're interested, follow me on tumblr (sarkastiskkorpklo-dot-tumblr-dot-com) or deviantart (missnatashak-dot-deviantart-dot-com) for the occasional update on how it's progressing! (It'll most likely be published on a new account that I'll link to.)

Thank you.

sarkastiskkorpklo


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